Genderbent
by The-Daughter-of-Rome
Summary: America drinks something meant for France and winds up turned into a girl. Really, it's all England's fault. But between dealing with perverts, girl stuff, and a first crush, America somehow forgets he should be pissed at England. But then again, he's kind of falling for Iggy... Darn girl hormones. Warnings inside, eventual UK/fem!US and USUK. America's POV.
1. Morning Coffee

**A random plot bunny that found its way into my head. Somehow. Yeah. This is written in America's POV for the fun of it. I don't usually do first person, so feedback on the writing style is greatly appreciated.**

**Warnings: Complete CRACK. Rated for France, some language, and some crude humor.**

**Disclaimer: Nope. Hetalia does not belong to me.**

* * *

Note to self: never, ever, _ever _drink anything that has been touched by England ever again.

In my defense, I was really tired, okay? I'd had to pull an all-nighter to finish my notes for the world conference that was the next day. AND I WAS HOSTING, GUYS. So my notes had to be awesome.

And before you tell me I should've done it earlier, let me tell you that I was _very busy _playing video games the whole day. And so that's why I had to wait until the last minute to finish all that boring paperwork.

Yeah. Ahem. Anyway.

So the next day I was totally dragging my ass, right? Because that's what happens after an all-nighter. Even when you're a country. We need our sleep too, guys.

In any case, the next day, I was HOSTING THE WORLD MEETING. Hosting sucks when I'm _not _tired, but it sucks even more when I _am _tired. I mean, seriously. Hours and hours of yelling and arguing and watching France creep on poor unsuspecting countries.

So I went to the world meeting, and I was totally about to fall asleep in front of everyone. Like, just face-plant into my desk (oh jeez, if I did that I'd break Texas!) and start snoring.

Actually, that sounded pretty good. I was so dang tired that I was starting to hallucinate. At least, I think I was hallucinating. France isn't _usually _a scarecrow, right?

But I'm a hero, and heroes need to set good examples. For the children, ya know? And for the other countries. (Yeah, Greece, I mean you!) So I refused to fall asleep at the conference.

But the other countries noticed that I was kind of dying from lack of sleep. I dunno, maybe the dark purple splotches beneath my eyes gave it away? Or maybe it was the fact that my eyes were so bloodshot, that the whites were completely red… Oh, and also, my skin had turned this weird color. Like, there was this yellowish-gray undertone to it. Blech. I looked like a zombie.

"Ve~! America, you look _terrible_! What happened?" Italy asked.

"Tired," I mumbled very eloquently. My head started to nod forward, but I managed to slap myself before I fell asleep.

England, sitting next to France, laughed. "You bloody idiot! I'll wager you were playing video games all day and had to stay up all night to finish your notes!"

Darn him and his uncannily accurate assumption. How did he know? Was he psychic or something? Oh jeez. If he's psychic, then there are a lot of things in my head that I really hope he's never seen… or heard… or however the heck psychic powers work.

"Urgh," I groaned. I'd meant to say, "Of course not!" but all that came out was that weird noise.

France cackled. "Now, _zat _would be very typical of young _Amerique_!" He oh-so subtly put his hand on England's thigh.

England shrieked. "Get your bloody hands off of me, frog!" He swatted France's arm in that sissy way of his, which had no effect. France continued to feel up England's leg while chuckling to himself. Did I mention that he was a scarecrow? Yeah. He was wearing the overalls and wide-brimmed hat and everything. Except his eyes weren't buttons.

Oh _jeez_. I was going crazy from the lack of sleep.

Germany cleared his throat. "Ahem. I believe that it America'sturn to present his solution."

"M'kay," I mumbled before getting out of my chair. I felt weird, like I was floating. Somehow, I managed to stumble to the front of the room. But let me tell you, it was really hard. The room kept shifting around. Like we were on a boat. But we weren't on a boat. I think.

"So…" I began. Then I frowned and squinted at my notes again. "Huh. The words are moving."

"…Vhat?" Germany said.

But it was totally true, boys and girls. The black ink letters on the cards in my hand were wiggling and crawling around… almost like…

I yelped and dropped the note cards. "The words turned into _ants! _Ants! They're everywhere!" The ants were running off the page and climbing all over my hands and running up my wrists into my shirtsleeves!

I proceeded to shake my arms while slapping myself all over hysterically. "WHY? I NEEDED THOSE NOTES!" Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered that most of the other nations were laughing their heads off.

"America, there are no ants here!" Italy yelled from his seat next to Germany.

I stopped spazzing. "Oh. Huh. You're right. The words are still here. Heh. Um, can we get some coffee or something? I really didn't get enough sleep…"

"You are the one hosting, you can order coffee break," China piped up.

"Oh, yeah. Um. We'll be right back after a short coffee break. There's a good café just down the block… Could someone else go pick up the drinks?" I asked.

"Why don't you go get them yourself? None of us are your bloody servants!" England snapped. It wasn't a question, the way he said it. It was an order. I don't like being bossed around by people—especially not _England! _That's what the freakin' Revolutionary War was about, y'all.

Then again, I guess he was just feeling snappish 'cause France was rubbing his leg in a very disturbing way.

"I totally could!" I exclaimed. "But… I just don't feel like it."

"Why? Because you're so sleep-deprived that if you try to walk in the street, you might just pass out in the middle of the road and get hit by a car?" This came from Canada.

I squinted at him. "Huh? Canada? When did you get here?"

He face-palmed. "I was _always…_never mind. In any case, you look seriously wasted."

"Heh. Well. You know." I paused. "I could totally go get the coffee, but right now I don't want to."

"But you're the one who _wants _coffee. I don't think anyone else wants coffee," Canada said. He looked around. "Am I right?"

He was ignored. As usual. Poor dude is just too easy to ignore!

"Anyone else want coffee? Or, I heard they have good tea-" I said.

England instantly perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah. So, if anyone wants to stretch their legs for a bit and get away from the conference—"

England stood up. "I'll do it."

"But _Angleterre_—what was zat you said about not being a servant?" France asked.

England glared at him and snapped, "If it gets me away from _you_, I'll do it. What do you all want?"

China requested an earl grey. Russia asked for some vodka (which, I informed him, they did not serve at cafés; he still wanted a vodka though). Then Germany had to step in and say that alcoholic beverages were not allowed at world conferences. Which kind of sucked for him, in hindsight, because he lives for beer. Beer is in his blood. His blood _is_beer. Or whatever the heck it is that makes him like beer so much.

After that issue was cleared up, Japan said he would like a cup of whatever kind of tea they had over there (he didn't want to make a hassle by choosing one, in case they didn't have it). Switzerland then demanded that he make a legitimate decision, because not wanting to make a hassle is for wimps apparently. Japan then flinched and said, "Green tea is preferable. But if there isn't any, I am fine with anything."

Switzerland was not completely happy about the last sentence, but was proud of Japan for choosing a type of tea.

Spain wanted a hot chocolate with whipped cream 'cause he's _so _grown up like that. /SARCASM.

Pretty much everyone else passed, because they'd realized that England would be touching the beverages when he brought them back.

And that meant there was a slight chance he could ruin them with his food-ruining powers. I had come to the same conclusion, but I really needed the caffeine, okay? I was desperate.

So then I ordered a mocha latte. "Oh, and get me like six packs of sugar, please."

England made a face. "Six? You're not seriously going to use all of them, are you?"

"No… Five go in the coffee. The last one is for me to eat plain!"

"Oh… my… God. No wonder your country is the most obese in the world!"

"Nuh-uh, that's Mexico, now! It's 2013! Gosh! Get with it, England!" **[1]**

England rolled his eyes and reluctantly asked if France wanted anything. To which France replied, "You, of course!"

"I'm not on the menu, git!" England narrowed his eyes. He was seriously pissed off right now, guys. Like, to the point of being about to blow his top.

"Such a shame," sighed France. He licked his lips in that creeper way of his. "I will have a latte, then."

"Right. Okay, no one else wants anything? I'll be off, then!" England all but ran out of the room.

"So. Um. Yeah. We'll resume once England comes back and I've had some caffeine," I announced awkwardly. Then I started to stagger back to my seat. Unfortunately, I tripped on the way and fell on France. Who 'honhonhon'-ed to himself for an unnecessarily long period of time.

The rest of the room was watching me with pity faces as I tried to get off of him. But it was really hard, because when you're dead tired like I was, your motor skills are PHAIL with a capital EVERYTHING.

"You seem drunk," China observed very observantly. "Did you have alcohol before coming here?"

"No. I'ma just tired." The words came out slurred, which did not help my case. That and the fact that I was still draped all over France made it seem like I was seriously sloshed. Which I was not.

"You look like a walking corpse! If you want to get some sleep now, I can help you, da?" Russia said all happily.

"Huh? How're you gonna… oh." He had his water pipe slung over his shoulder. "No thanks. Pass." I finally got myself upright again and continued on my way to my seat. Why did I have to pick a chair in the back of the room? It's such a long walk from the front! Like, eight whole yards, guys. That's a whole twenty-four feet.

I got back in my seat. Then everyone kind of just sat and we all stared at each other awkwardly.

We did that for a long time while we waited for England to return with our life-bringing caffeinated beverages.

Then England came back, all smirky and in a significantly better mood. He handed China his earl grey (why is it called that, anyway? Did an earl named Grey invent it? Or was his name Earl Grey? …Can you even invent a type of tea? I mean… tea is leaf juice. Bet y'all didn't know that. So how could Earl Grey invent a leaf? Leaves cannot be invented).

Japan got his green tea. He was very happy.

Spain got his hot chocolate and was all, "YAAAAY! Do you want some, Romano?"

And Romano was like, "Hell no, bastardo."

And Spain was like, "Oh, okay! More for me! YAAAAY!" I swear, the dude just exudes happy rainbow bubble fairy dust or something. Nothing gets him down.

England handed France a cup. "Here. You ordered the mocha latte, right?" he smirked.

"No. I ordered the latte."

"Yeah, man, the mocha latte was mine!" I exclaimed.

England paled. "Oh. Ahem. Uh… I really think France should just drink the mocha latte, and you can have the latte instead."

"What? Heck no! I _need_ my chocolately coffee goodness with whipped cream on top!"

France's eyes narrowed. "… I'd much rather let _Amerique _have his overly sweet beverage, if you do not mind. I do not think zat _chocolat_ and coffee mix well."

England reluctantly handed me the mocha latte.

"Where's my six packs of sugar?" I demanded.

"Here." He tossed four packs at me.

"What. Dude. Four does not equal six! I wanted six!"

"Four is plenty, you tosser." He gave France his latte. Then he looked back at me nervously.

I dumped all four packs of sugar into my coffee. Then I chugged it all. It was really hot, but that was okay, because it tasted awesome. Plus also my nerves weren't working right 'cause I was super tired. I couldn't really feel the burn.

Anyway, the coffee worked its magic like usual! I could feel the buzz of excessive sugar running through my veins. And, oh yeah, the caffeine helped a bit too. But mostly the sugar woke me up.

So I totally rocked the conference! I delivered my presentation all awesomely and stuff. The rest of the meeting flew by quickly.

And it was pretty much a normal rest of the day. I went home, changed out of my suit, and played video games until dinnertime with Tony. Then I ate two burgers for dinner (aren't you guys proud of me? I cut down from eating five!), and had a diet Coke for dessert. Yep. I'm being totally healthful. Healthy. Whatever.

Then I went to sleep at ten o'clock, because I was tired and we were having another day of the conference tomorrow. Also, I usually woke up early. Automatically. I dunno why. I guess I'm just a morning person…?

But I was in for a nasty surprise in the morning.

I woke up at six in the morning, as per usual. The sun was just coming up. I could tell it was going to be a pretty hot day. It was June, after all.

Welp. No point lazing around in bed when you're already awake!

I sat up and yawned. Then brushed some of my hair out of my face. "Hmm. Man, I need to get a haircut sometime." Stupid hair fell back in my face again. I gave up and got out of bed.

My boxers almost slipped off when I stood up. Good thing there was no one else in my room, heh. I hoisted them back up. Dang. I didn't remember them being this baggy yesterday… I guess what they said is true—you lose weight while you sleep.

I really ought to start sleeping more. Not than I'm overweight or anything! It's just that sleeping is a heck of a lot easier way to lose weight than working out. And sometimes, I gain weight after I work out, guys! What gives? I mean, sure, I have some pretty sweet muscles, but why do I get heavier when I lose fat?

Anyway.

My shirt was also much bigger than I remembered it being. I felt like a dwarf in it. Or a pixie. Or one of England's weird imaginary friends.

So I walked over to the bathroom to brush my teeth and stuff. I brush my teeth_twice _in the morning—once after I wake up, and then again after I eat my breakfast. That's how you maintain a beautiful American smile, y'all.

My stupid hair was falling in my face again. I almost tripped twice on the way to the bathroom, despite the fact that it was just down the hall. Grr. Stupid hair.

Then I got in the bathroom and reached for my toothbrush, which was standing in a cup on the sink counter. And did a double take.

Because, in doing so, I had looked up at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Holy crap!" I shrieked in a voice much higher than my usual shrieking voice.

That face in the mirror was not my usual sexy face.

No… unless I was mistaken, that face in the mirror was that of a girl.

Whut.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! Sorry that this was kind of a crappy first chapter. But I'm not exactly all that great at crack. Or first person. Yikes. Feedback on that would be greatly appreciated.**

**Anyway, hope you guys liked! I'm going to start working on the second chapter right away. :) **

**I also have a Tumblr. I do request drabbles if anyone's interested.**

**Notes:**

**[1]: Mexico was recently named the most obese country in the world, finally surpassing America. True fact. Sorry,Mexico. **


	2. Disguised

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, or favorited! You really made my day.**

**So yes, this story is going to mainly be UK/fem!US. Might not seem so in this chapter, but don't worry—America isn't really interested in anyone yet. But they're definitely interested in him! …her! …You guys know what I mean…**

**Same warnings apply as last chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine, nor are any brands/stores mentioned here.**

* * *

So there I was, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Shoulder-length wavy hair—my same color, just much longer. Oh, and Nantucket wasn't sticking up anymore. It had joined the rest of my hair, but it was a lighter shade. So you could still figure out which strand was my Nantucket.

I was about five feet six now, a good three and a half inches shorter than my old height. Grr. Now I was shorter than England! That's not a good thing. Now I couldn't look down upon him like I usually did. Now _he'd_ be looking down on me.

Like when I was a kid.

I didn't like being short when I was a kid. But luckily for me, I grew super fast and I got pretty tall.

Until now, that is.

I kept my muscles, though! Well, not completely. I wasn't as freakin' ripped as I usually am. But I guess that that's a good thing. I mean, I wouldn't want to look like a female version of Popeye while I was stuck in my girl form. That'd be kind of creepy.

Then I remembered that we were having part two of the conference today. And started to panic.

"HOW AM I GOING TO EXPLAIN THE FACT THAT I'M A GIRL?" I cried.

I was about to start sobbing on the counter. Because, really, this is the ultimate FML. I am America! I'm the most kickass country in the world! I can't just show up to a world conference as a chick! That's just… I don't know, that's just not kickass, somehow.

Then I had an idea! Like, one of those lightbulb ideas that just pop out of nowhere and float over people's heads. Heh.

"I'll just cover my face and hair and stuff!" I exclaimed excitedly. "Then no one will be able to tell that I'm a girl!"

Except for my voice. Darn. Well, I'll pretend I have a cold so I won't have to talk much. And when I do, I'll just pitch my voice lower! And if they say I sound weird, I'll say it's the cold! Bingo! I'm a genius, aren't I?

But first I had to brush my teeth. Which I did. Scrubbed them real good so I wouldn't get cavities and such. Cavities are never a good thing.

Then I skipped back to my room, to my closet! And before you say anything, yes, I know that skipping is not particularly manly. But I was really happy about my idea. As in, Spain-level happy.

So I grabbed a random baseball cap and twisted my hair up, then pulled the cap over my head so the long hair didn't show! Well, most of it didn't, at least. I think. I hope.

Then I ran into a problem. What kind of shirt was I gonna wear? I didn't have… you know… female undergarments.

Did I mention that this was a major problem? Because I had a pretty nice rack, you guys. And I was going to a world conference where most of the countries are dudes. I think you guys can see where this is going, right?

Yeah…

So I decided that layers were the right way to go! I grabbed a black tank top and changed into it. That tank top used to fit me really well, but now it was super duper baggy. Then I threw a t-shirt over it. But you could still see that I was not flat chested, as a dude should be, so I took my favorite bomber jacket and slung that on. And zipped it up all the way.

I don't usually zip up my jacket, but whatever. It's not like anyone would notice, right?

… I just realized that I also don't usually wear jackets in June. Darn. But it's okay, because my excuse is a cold! And people with colds feel cold, right? That's why they're called colds! I think. Hopefully.

I also changed into a pair of skinny jeans. I usually do not wear skinny jeans, because they're tight and uncomfortable. But, as a chick, I didn't have anything down there to get squeezed uncomfortably! Yay!

Well, at least my pants fit okay in my girl form. Actually, these pants fit great. No wonder I couldn't wear them before—proof that skinny jeans were not made for guys, you guys. No offense to any dudes out there who wear skinny jeans.

… And now I just realized that England wears skinny jeans when he's trying to be all "rad" and "hip" or whatever word it is that old people nowadays use to mean "cool."

Um, okay. Moving on.

Now that I was dressed, I put Texas back on my face. Huh. Weird. Texas was making everything look blurry.

I took Texas off. Now everything was clear. Cool. I didn't need glasses in girl form! That was another perk of being a girl. (The first one being the fact that I can now wear skinny jeans comfortably, in case you guys missed it.)

Well. I was dressed. But everyone could see that my face was more feminine than before.

To solve this dilemma, I grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around my face so only my eyes showed. I looked like a ninja. Except ninjas don't wear bomber jackets and baseball caps.

Welp. I was ready! I checked the clock. It was already six forty-five. The conference started at eight.

I was really hungry, but I also was too lazy to bother with taking off the scarf to eat. Scarves are difficult to use, people. I have newfound respect for Russia now.

…Strike that. If I'm hiding my girly face behind (under? Underneath? Below? I dunno, what word do you use for this?) a scarf, then what is _Russia _hiding?

I'll bet his neck is really ugly or he has another head growing out of it. From all the radiation in his country and whatnot. Yeah.

So instead, I marched downstairs and put on my boots. Which were way too big, now. I had to go to the bathroom and get a bunch of tissues and toilet paper to stuff the toes so that I didn't trip all over the place.

Once that issue had been solved, I got my notes and car keys. Then I drove to the conference building.

* * *

It was seven fifteen when I got to the conference room. There were, surprisingly, two people already there.

One of them was Germany (of course), and the other was Russia.

"Hi guys," I said, but it came out all muffled because of my face-scarf.

Germany gave me this weird look. "…Hello?"

"Hello! Are you a new country?" Russia asked happily.

"Wha—no! It's me, you guys!"

"Who?" Russia said.

Now I know how Canada feels. [Insert sad face here.]

"America!" I exclaimed.

"Oh." Germany looked irritated. "Vhy are you vearing a scarf on your face?"

"I like America's scarf," Russia informed us pleasantly.

"Thanks, dude!" I smiled, but they couldn't see it because my face was wrapped in a scarf. Obviously. "And…uh, it's because I have a cold."

"I fail to see how putting a scarf on your face helps anything," Germany said, like the jerk he is.

I thought fast. "It's called, I'm not spreading my germs around to you guys."

"But aren't you just breathing in all of your germs again as soon as they come out?" Russia pointed out brightly.

"Yes. But I'm a hero, and heroes do not spread their germs around!" I proclaimed.

Germany groaned. "I have a headache, and the meeting hasn't even begun yet." He rubbed his temples.

"I'll… just… be quiet now," I said, scooting away from the two of them.

Russia followed me, however.

"I think you are hiding something," he said all pleasantly. He looked me up and down in this kind of creepy way. "There is something under all those layers that you do not wish us to see, da?"

"Nope!" I said quickly. "I'm just cold today because I'm sick!"

"You seemed fine yesterday."

"I think that England somehow contaminated my coffee, okay?"  
"So you have stomach problem?"

"No, I have a cold!"

"You seem smaller today."

"Do I? Huh, I hadn't noticed. Do colds make you shrink?"

He laughed. "I will find out what you are hiding eventually! You are bad liar, America!" Then he walked backwards, still grinning.

Which was majorly creepy. You don't just walk backwards while staring at someone!

I checked my watch. It was seven thirty now.

Half an hour left till we start.

Half an hour more of being alone with just Russia and Germany.

I groaned and banged my head on the table.

At that moment, France walked in.

Great. Just great.

The rest of the world trickled in over the course of half an hour, and everyone was here by eight o'clock. Surprisingly, the Italy brothers, Spain, and Canada were on time! (Canada says he's always here on time, it's just that we don't see him when we take roll. I guess that could be true, but in any case, he gets marked absent or late a lot.)

I was sitting between France and England, because everyone agreed that there needed to be a barrier between them. Unfortunately, no one else was brave enough to actually _be _the barrier.

Which is how I got stuck with that job.

At the moment, China was giving his speech. I was glad for this, because Russia stopped staring at me so he could stare at China.

England leaned over and whispered in my ear. It tickled like crazy, but I managed not to laugh. "Are you all right?"

"Never better," I whispered back.

He frowned. "What?"

"I said, 'Never better,'" I repeated, still whispering.

"I can't hear you with that blasted scarf in the way, you should know that!" he hissed. He reached for the scarf, then stopped. "Why are you even wearing a scarf? It's bloody _June, _for God's sake. No one wears a scarf in June."

I pointed across the table to Russia. Who did not notice my pointing, as he was staring dreamily at China.

"Point taken," England whispered. "But in all seriousness, are you all right?"

I flashed him a thumbs-up in response, because I couldn't whisper well with the scarf over my mouth.

"What happened to your glasses?" he whisper-asked.

I shrugged in response.

His humongous brows furrowed. "Aren't you uncomfortable? It's absolutely _sweltering _in here. And you're wearing a jacket."

I shrugged again. In all honesty, I _was _dying of the heat. I was sweating big time, but no one could see it, thankfully.

China finished talking.

I stood up from my spot and yelled, "Okay, now we'll take a fifteen-minute break before Spain gives his report!"

I sat back down.

Russia stood up and walked over to me. Everyone else watched with wide eyes.

"I figured out what you were hiding!" he said cheerfully. Then he yanked the baseball cap off my head.

All of my long hair tumbled down.

Russia then tried to pull my scarf off of my face, but I held onto it with both hands.

"Let go!" I shouted.

Russia kept tugging at it. His eyes narrowed. Then, with a hard jerk, he yanked the scarf out of my grasp and revealed my face to the world.

There was a collective gasp of shock from around the room.

"A-America-san," Japan choked. "You… you are…"

"I thought so!" Russia announced proudly. "That is why you are smaller, da?"

France cackled. "Oh, but zis is just _excellente_!" He cupped my chin and turned my head so he could see it better. He licked his lips, apparently liking what he saw. "There's no need for you to cover up, _Amerique! _You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Uh, dude. Nothing to be ashamed of? I'm a freakin' girl."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Hungary snapped, offended.

"Nothing! Sorry!" I put my hands up. "It's just… it's kind of embarrassing for me 'cause I don't even know how this happened. Hey, cut that out!"

That last part was because France had started fiddling around with my jacket zipper.

He stopped and leaned away from me, smirking.

England looked strange. He was avoiding looking at me, for some reason. Unlike Russia, who was staring unblinkingly at me.

Jeez. Some men have no sense of decency! No matter how pretty a woman is, you don't just gawk at her in public.

Did I really just think that? Dang. I really _am _a girl now, aren't I?

Hungary crossed the room and stood at my side. "Welcome to the club now, America!"

That's right. Most of the other female countries stuck together. Something about how it's a man's world they live in, so the girls gotta stick together.

Or something.

"America's chest belongs to me!" Korea announced loudly.

"Dude!" I made a face. "You're not trying to make a move on me, are you?"

"Of course not, _da-ze_! We're friends! It's just that I don't want anyone else claiming my friend's breasts!" He beamed at me.

"Aww, that's both really sweet and really awkward of you," I cooed. Snap. Did I really just coo something? BLARGH.

Germany cleared his throat. "Fifteen minutes are up."

"Thanks," I said. I pointed to Spain. "You're up!"

* * *

The rest of the meeting was very different from the normal. I blame my new girl hormones.

I mean, for the first time ever, I realized that I was sitting in a room full of very attractive guys.

I was noticing little details about everyone, man. _Everyone_.

The cute way Germany blushed on Italy's behalf whenever Italy said something stupid or awkward.

That adorable little curl of Romano's.

The way Spain's smile sent little thrills through me each time he aimed it in my general direction.

The way Japan's eyes were the exact color of dark chocolate.

The fact that France was not, despite his inability to give people personal space, bad looking at all. _Dang _his hair looked silky.

I could go on and on, but…

Most of all, I was noticing England. Were his eyes _always _that green?

I wanted to lean my head on his shoulder, or lace my fingers through his, or brush his arm, or run my fingers through his blond hair. And I didn't know why.

It was very strange.

I wondered if it meant that I was gay because I was thinking of the guy countries as _attractive_. Did I count as a boy or a girl right now? Physically, I was a girl. But I was a guy, mentally. Right? Well… kind of?

Throughout the whole meeting, Russia was staring at me and smiling. Which probably was not a good sign. Also, France was flirting with me. Complimenting me and putting his hand on mine and asking me if I had anything to do after the meeting.

My girly heart may or may not have fluttered in a girly way when he looked me right in the eyes like that.

Next to me, England made a retching sound in the back of his throat.

* * *

At the end of the meeting, France walked with me to the door, like a gentleman.

"Are you positive you have something to do after zis?" he asked again.

I opened my mouth to respond when Korea shouted, "Hey, America! Want to go to an arcade and play video games, _da-ze_?"

France looked miffed. "You would rather play ze video games with _him_, than spend time with _moi_?"

I started to say something again when someone grabbed hold of my hand and started to drag me away.

It was England.

"Terribly sorry, but if you don't mind, _I'll _be borrowing America for the day," he called over his shoulder while pulling me out the door.

France chuckled.

"Not like _that_, you stupid wanker!" he added.

"Where are we going?" I demanded. He was still pulling me along by the hand. I totally could have gotten out of his grip if I wanted to, guys. But I was distracted by the fact that he was holding my hand. I dunno. There was a fluttering in my chest.

"Anywhere but here," he huffed. We were running pretty fast. "I need to tell you something."

I wondered what he wanted to tell me…

"Can't you just tell me on the fly?" I asked.

"No. Be patient. Where'd you park your car?"  
"We just ran past it."

He sighed and about-faced.

"Dude, can you let go of me? I'm capable of walking on my own," I said.

He looked down at our entwined hands and immediately released me. "Sorry."

We walked a few paces until we came to my white Lincoln town car.

England eyed it. "That thing? It looks like a bloody boat!"

"Quit judging my car." I unlocked it and started to open the passenger-side door. Then stopped. "Why did you want to get in my car?"

"We needed to talk. In private."

I gulped, because those two sentences put some very strange, yet somehow appealing images in my head. "You got it." I opened the passenger door for him like a gentleman… oh. Wait. Huh. Do ladies open doors for people? Not usually…

I walked around to the driver's side and opened the door. Then slid in.

England was making this awkward face. "Your seats are so huge. And squishy."

"So?"

He sighed. "Never mind. In any case, I… close the door!"

I pulled it shut. "What?"

"I'm terribly sorry, but… it's my fault you've turned into a girl."

I thought about that statement for a second, then asked, "How?"

"The coffee. It was meant for France. I was thinking that if he was a woman, he would act more ladylike and stop groping me." He paused. "You're not mad?"

I thought about it. I probably _should _be pissed off, but mostly I was distracted by the look he was giving me. His green eyes were wide; he was chewing on his lip anxiously… Why was I thinking that was sexy?

"Nope," I said simply. And shrugged.

He blew out a breath. "Um… thank you."

"Just a question: how long does this last?"

"About a month."

"I'll be a _girl _for a _month_?" I nearly shouted.

"Yes." He paused before adding, "And lower your voice. It's not ladylike to shout."

"Well, if I'm gonna be a girl for a month, I'm going to need some things," I said.

He looked at me curiously. "Like what?"

"Like clothes that fit, for starters. Oh, and something for my chest. I don't want to have to wear a jacket for a whole month."

His eyes unconsciously flickered to my chest. Then back to my face. His face reddened. "Sorry."

"Dude. I don't care. It's still me." Then I added, "You're going shopping with me."

"Why?"

"Two things. One: this is your fault. Two: You're already in the car. So there."

He sighed. "Bollocks. I should've known I wouldn't get off _completely _scot-free."

"Ha! You said 'get off.'"

"Shut up."

* * *

**A/N: So, my Tumblr is mintchipmagic. Eyup. Feel free to request a drabble. :) **

**Next chapter: America goes shopping for girl clothes. Then realizes he has no idea what to look for. To make matters worse, England can't help him in that department, as he is a dude. Oh, and he keeps picking out things that aren't America's style. XD**

**Thanks again, readers! **


	3. Shopping

**A/N: Hope you guys like, because this is one _long _chapter. And a very awkward one, too. **

**I don't know how I'm able to write them this long. Usually, my chapters are around a thousand words. But these... these just keep going on and on and on. **

**Thanks to all you guys who read, reviewed, followed, or favorited! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Which is probably a good thing, actually...**

* * *

There we were at Wal-M*rt, because I needed girl clothes. And Wal-M*rt has everything. They've got pants, and shirts, and socks, and shoes, and, oh yeah, bras. Which I needed.

England was looking totally embarrassed to be in the women's section. But whatever. It _was _his fault that I was a girl. And even though I wasn't really mad at him, I still figured that a little payback couldn't hurt.

You guys should've seen his face, though. Seriously. He was trying to pretend that it's perfectly normal for a dude to be browsing the girls' section. And failing spectacularly. His face was completely red, LOL.

I frowned, looking at the girls' shorts. "_Dang _these things are short. No way am I wearing these." Because seriously, you guys! I, as a former dude, was used to shorts that go down to the knee. Not these skimpy little things that barely cover your butt.

Although I'm sure France would _love _me to show up to a meeting in those.

Ugh. Major creepiness here.

England was looking at the shorts too, and he said, "I don't see anything wrong with them. Don't the girls in your country wear them often?"

"Well, yeah, but… I'm not used to short-shorts!"

"So get longer ones."

I sighed. "It's freakin' _June_, Eng—Arthur." (Whoops, I almost forgot I couldn't call him England in public, haha! _Almost _being the key word_._) "They don't usually sell long shorts in—oh, hey, wait. Bermuda shorts!"

Luckily, Wal-M*rt had some girls' shorts that go down to your knee. Yay.

Trouble was, I didn't know what size pants I wore.

"Arthur, what size do you think I am?" I held up a pair of the denim Bermuda shorts.

"H-how am I supposed to know, git?"

"Because you're a weird pervert," I said, like it was obvious. Which it was. Did you guys know he's the erotic ambassador? 'Cause he is. "Therefore, you know how women's sizes work."

One of the nearby store patrons, a brunette teenage girl, giggled at this.

He facepalmed. "Your logic truly astounds me, Al…ice."

Nice save there, Iggy. Great. So my name is Alice now? Like Alice in Wonderland?

I went up to the giggling girl. "Hey, dude, do you know what size I need?"

"Like, you should get the same size as the pants you're wearing," she told me. She had a valley girl accent. Which, if you don't know, are very annoying and instantly make you sound dumb.

"These are men's pants," I informed her matter-of-factly.

"Why are you wearing men's pants?"

"Because…" I tried to think of a reason. Aha! "They're a hand-me-down from my brother."

"Oh. Um. Let's see." She looked me up and down. "Well, you've got a pretty narrow waist. Lucky. I would try, like, a size double zero or a zero. Or if those are too tight, a size two."

"Thanks," I said. I went back to the Bermuda shorts. I rifled through a stack and found a size double zero. I held it up against myself. Jeez, it looked tight. So I went up to a size two, which looked like it fit right.

Just then, England came over to me, holding up this really short denim skirt.

"Do you think this'll fit?" he asked me.

"There is no chance in heck that I am wearing that."

"I'm trying to bloody help you!"

"I don't _do _skirts!" I responded, then realized that sounded awkward. "Eh. I meant, I don't like skirts."

"How about this one?" He held up a longer one. It was white and all ruffle-y and was about knee-length.

But _dude_, it was girly. There were friggin' sequins and glitter on it.

"I'd rather wear the slut shorts," I said, pointing at the short-shorts.

He leered at me. "So why don't you?"

"Fine, I think I will!" I huffed, grabbing a pair in my size. At least if a wind blew while I was wearing those, it wouldn't give the whole world a view of my underwear.

… They would definitely take some getting used to, though. Guys do not expose their thighs, unless they're really hardcore about their sports and wear track shorts or Speedos.

And now shirts, since I had two pairs of pants in my shopping cart.

I decided that I was a medium for the shirts, since size small looked too small and size large looked too large.

I stared at the rack, deciding.

England tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see him holding up the girliest shirt in the world.

It was neon pink, with glitter and sparkles and ruffles and sequins and ribbons everywhere. I almost puked from all the sparkles.

"No chance," I snapped.

"But this is a proper young lady's shirt! You really ought to dress more femininely."

"Arthur, I am not ten years old. That is a little girly shirt for a little girly-girl." I frowned at him. Who did he think he was, trying to force me into le girly clothes?

I grabbed a random army green camouflage t-shirt off its hanger. Size medium! Cool. "Now, _this _is something I would wear."

"You dress like a tomboy," he grumbled.

"I'll wear something you pick if it's not pink. And if it doesn't have ruffles or sparkles of any kind."

England seemed satisfied with that, and selected another shirt. This one was black, with the pattern of a chain of purple roses across the chest. "Better?"

"…This looks Goth. I am not Goth."

England huffed and put that shirt back. Then he picked a white blouse. I was about to protest, except then I realized this one was tolerable. It was kind of like a slightly girlier polo shirt.

"Eh, why the hell not?" I shrugged. I put it in the cart.

I got a pair of random sneakers. Apparently my feet had shrunk a LOT. I was now a women's size seven.

I also picked up a pack of Fruit of the Loom underwear and tossed it into my cart. Women's underwear looks like Speedos. I dunno how they stand it.

Then, the event I'd most been dreading…

You guessed it.

BRA SHOPPING.

There, I said it.

Problem was, there were so many darn types and I had no idea what to look for. Also, the only person I had with me was England, who is not very helpful when it comes to shopping.

And I didn't want to have to ask people for help with _this_, because that's just plain awkward.

"Why don't you get this one?" England asked, pointing to a very lacy black one.

"EWWW! YOU'RE SUCH A PERVERT!" I hollered.

A few other women in the "intimate apparel" section turned to look at me. One of them was in her thirties or something. The other two were old ladies in their sixties or seventies or whatever.

Awkward. I did not want the old ladies to watch me go bra shopping with England.

"Also," I said, much more quietly so that only England could hear, "I don't even know what size to get."

"Eh? You don't?"  
"No…" I blushed. "I've had these-" I gestured to my chest, "-for less than a full day. So how am I supposed to know?"

"Good point. I thought that women just automatically knew what size they were."  
"…The heck?"

And he says _my _logic makes no sense. Pfft. Way to be a hypocrite, England.

"So what size do you think I am?" I whispered.

"I don't know, you're wearing that bloody jacket of yours. I can't see."

Well, good to know that the jacket covered things up well! [Smiley face.]

"Fine, then I'll take it off." I started to unzip my bomber jacket. England covered his eyes with his hands.

"Bloody hell, Am—I mean, Alice! Don't just strip in public!" he whisper-screamed at me.

"I'm not stripping, I'm taking off my jacket," I huffed. I finished unzipping it and shrugged it off. "Here, what size do you think I am?"

He swore. "I'm not going to ogle your chest! That's improper!"

"It's not if I'm telling you to! Come on, please, En—Arthur."

"…This is the first time anyone's ever asked me to look at their breasts."

"And the last, so don't worry."

His face was so red that he looked like a tomato! Oh, wait, that's South Italy. At least, according to Spain. Haha.

He glanced quickly at me, and then averted his eyes. "Try a B."

"Huh? Is that slang for something?"

"No! Just… put your [censored] jacket back on!"

Which I did.

"What's a B?" I asked rather loudly.

"Size B," he clarified, without really helping me understand.

"Oh. Cool. I have no idea what that means whatsoever." Then I had a brilliant idea. "I know! I'll ask Mattie!"

He choked. "Why would you ask your _brother _how to find a fitting undergarment?"

"Um, because he's dating Ukrai—I mean, Katyusha. Have you _seen _that girl's—"

He shushed me. "Just… just try this one on, okay?" He grabbed a nearby black one. This one was not as lacy as the first one he'd chosen, thank God.

Then he steered me towards the fitting rooms. I was unused to being manhandled by men! I was _America, _for Dumbledore's sake! (Yes, that was an HP reference. HP is just awesome like that.) No one pushed me around!

Until now, that is. Now that I was a female, it was easy for a relatively weak guy like England to shove my size-two ass around.

Oh. That sounded so awkward, now that I read that last sentence out loud. But I'm too lazy to hit the backspace, LOL.

In any case, I got my size-two ass manhandled (I need to stop using that phrase, but I like the way it sounds. Not the awkward-sounding-ness, but the… you know what? Forget it) all the way over to the fitting rooms. I squeaked.

"I am perfectly capable of walking!" I exclaimed.

"Just go try it on," he muttered, giving me one final little push.

"Gosh, pushy much?" That right there is a regular tongue twister, children. Try saying it out loud five times fast. Gosh, pushy much. Gosh pushy much. Gosh pushy mush. Gosh pussy mush. LOL, pussy mush. Wait. That's more gross than funny, actually.

I give up.

In any case, I walked into the fitting room stall and removed my jacket. Then I removed my outer t-shirt. But I left my tank top on while I stared down the bra.

"Now, how do I put you on?" I asked the bra.

It didn't say anything.

"I didn't think so." I took it off the hanger, holding it by the… shoulder strap thingies. I don't know if there's an official name for that or something, so I'm just going to call them the strap thingies.

There was another thingy in the back, which I assumed I needed to unhook before putting it on. (Brilliant deduction, I know.) So I unhooked the little hook thingy. It took a few tries, I'll admit, but hey. Quit judging. I was a dude for the past two hundred and some-odd years.

Also, I didn't go around learning how to use bras during all that time. I didn't need to. I didn't need to put them on. I also didn't need to take them off.

Surely you're now saying, "Oh, but America! Haven't you ever had to undress a girl for—" At which point, I will cut you off because you don't need to finish that sentence.

Yeah. Fun fact about me: I haven't had a dating relationship with anyone ever before. Ever. And even though I wasn't in a relationship… abstinence for the win, you guys!

It's just that I never found a girl, you know? Or a guy, for that matter. And I'm not a pervert like France or England. So I just went without those kinds of interactions.

Ahem. Anyway.

I put my arms through the strap thingy holes. Loops. Whatever the heck that's called. And then realized I had a problem.

I couldn't hook the darned thing closed, because really. It was hard enough to open that thing when it was in front of me and I could see what I was doing. But hooking it together behind my back? Pfft. Impossible.

"Are you done yet, Alice?" England called from outside the fitting room stall.

"No," I called back.

"How long does it take you to try that damned thing on?" he snapped.

"I can't close it in back!"

"…What?"

"Arthur, I need you to come in here and close it for me," I whined.

There was a pause. Then England said, "No."

Well, actually what he said was a lot less polite. But I'm not going to type it because I don't like typing the f-word. It's the worst one out of all the profanity words.

"PLEEEEAAAAAAASE!" I begged.

"No."

Then I decided to try the tactic that always worked when I was little. "Pwease, Engwand?"

That elicited a strange little sound from the other side of the door. Then there was a pause before he said, "Don't call me that in public."

"Pwease, Awthur?"

I think he made a little whimper in the back of his throat. Haha, that's weird.

"Pwetty pwease wiff spwinkles on top?" I pleaded in my best baby voice.

He sighed. "Fine."

"Yay," I said in my normal voice. I opened the fitting room stall door a crack to let him in.

"You," he told me, "are a terrible, manipulative, little… oh."

That last part was because he realized that I was standing in front of him without a shirt, LOL.

He blushed. "Have you no shame?"

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p'. "Can you help me hook it closed in back?"

"This is absolutely _cringeworthy_," England complained.

"What?"

"Mortifying. Embarrassing. Awkward."

"Oh. How so?"

He sputtered. "How so? Would you look at yourself?"

"I can't look at myself, duh!"

"That's not what I meant!"  
"Artie, there is absolutely _nothing_ awkward about this. You've seen me naked before."

"That was when you were little! …And a boy!"

I sighed. "Just freakin' hook the thing shut, okay?"

With trembling fingers, England reached for the… back-of-the-bra hook thingy and hooked it together.

_Dang _this thing was uncomfortable.

"What's with this hard wire thing?" I complained, tugging at the bottom of the cup.

"It's underwire," England informed me. "For… you know, more support."

I sighed. "I pity girls now. Big-time. They have to wear this kind of thing every day?"

"Eh… to the best of my knowledge, yes."

I heaved another sigh. "Great. Thanks." I waited for him to leave so I could take the irritating thing off and change back into my original clothes.

He didn't leave.

"Can you undo it for me?" I asked, realizing that I wouldn't be able to get the darned bra off if it was hooked in the back.

He did so, quickly. And then stood there awkwardly.

"You can leave now," I not so subtly hinted.

"O-oh! Right. I'll. Just. Be. Um. Leaving now." He swallowed and backed out of the fitting room stall.

I heard some dude outside the stall wolf-whistle when England came out. "That your girlfriend in there?"

Grr! I wasn't his girlfriend! …We hadn't gone on a single date. Unless those times he came to visit me when I was a kid count. Hopefully not.

"Certainly not," I heard England say.

You tell that jerk, England!

The dude chuckled. "Sure, sure."

I burst out of the stall, fully dressed and ready to kick ass. And I'll bet I looked kickass, too, what with my awesome bomber jacket and everything.

"I'M NOT HIS GIRLFRIEND!" I hollered, at a much louder volume than necessary. But hey, I wanted to get my message across. "Hold this," I hissed at England, thrusting the bra in his hands.

He looked startled and mortified at the same time. "Alice…"

"I don't like jerks," I growled. "And you, sir, are a jerk."

The dude blinked up at me all innocently. He was probably in his twenties. "Okay, chill. I was just kidding around with your boyfriend."

"HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

"You don't have to overreact," the guy said in this kind of whiny voice.

"Uh, I totally do," I said. "This guy is… um, my uncle."

"What? Oh, sorry!" Instantly, the guy looked horrified.

England rolled his eyes. "Come on now, Alice." He grabbed me and started hightailing it to the checkout. "Let's just pay for the clothes and end this nightmare."

So we did.

* * *

While we were waiting in line, my phone rang. The caller ID read "FRANCE."

"Don't bloody answer that," England hissed at me.

But I am a hero, and heroes always answer their phones! Who knows, maybe it was an emergency and France needed my help.

…Although, admittedly I'm not particularly enthusiastic about helping France.

I picked it up. "Yo, wassup playa?"

England rolled his eyes at me and muttered something about Poland. I dunno what that's about.

"Ah, _Amerique_," France's Frenchy voice said. "I need to ask you a question."

"…Okay?"

"Is your front lawn normally covered in _les tournesols_?"

"Ehh… les what?"

"Sunflowers," France clarified.

"Um, no. I have lots of dandelions and grass on my front lawn, but no sunflowers." I paused. "Wait. Why are you asking me this? Are you at my house?"

"But of course! I was hoping to find you, but instead, I found _une montagne _of _les tournesols_."

"That's so weird. Sunflowers? Why sunflowers?"

Then it hit me like a train. Or a brick. Or, rather, like a certain six-foot-tall Russian…

"France," I said slowly into the phone, "I suggest you leave my house _now_."

"_Pourquoi?_"

"I think Russia might be present."

"Oh. _Adieu_, then, _Amerique_! I will leave right now." There was a click, and France hung up on me.

England was looking at me curiously.

"Crap," I hissed through my teeth. "I think Russia's at my house."

"Oh." England looked anxious. "Well, that's certainly not good."

"WHY DOESN'T THIS LINE GO FASTER?" I sobbed.

"Calm down, we'll be out of the store soon, then you can go back home…"

Well, I hoped that would be the case. Wal-M*rt lines are notoriously slow.

* * *

**A/N: And there we go. Now the plot actually goes somewhere. **

**Next chapter: An appearance from Mother Russia! ^J^**

**Feedback would be totally awesomesauce. :) **


	4. Mother Russia

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and follows, guys! :D**

**Here's the next chapter. It's shorter, sorry. But I hope you guys like!**

* * *

The world just _loves _trolling me, apparently.

Because there we were, standing in the world's slowest line ever. And I was freaking out internally, because Russia had dumped a bunch of sunflowers onto my front yard.

I guess that's, like, a thing of his or something? Is he marking his territory? Oh, jeez. If he pissed on my yard to claim it as his, I will be extremely mad.

Because it's okay if dogs or cats do it, 'cause they're dogs or cats and therefore have redeeming qualities. But Russia has no excuse.

I started fidgeting around in line, from the anxiety and all that stuff.

"Why would he dump a bunch of sunflowers in my yard?" I whined to England.

"Why indeed," he mused. "I mean, if it were corianders or gardenias or forget-me-nots, that would make sense."

I stared at him. "Why does the kind of flower make a difference?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "Haven't you heard of the language of flowers?"

"…Flowers talk?"

England rolled his eyes. "No. They're symbolic."

"Oh," I said, like I understood what he meant. Which I didn't.

He gave me an example. "Like how red roses symbolize love. You've heard of that one, right?"

"Yeah. Hasn't everyone?" Actually, I didn't know that they _symbolized _love. All I knew was that you were supposed to give your valentine red roses on Valentine's Day.

"Well, sunflowers aren't a particularly romantic flower, if Ru—I mean, _Ivan _is trying to be romantic."

"Well, I think he just really likes sunflowers. Not everything has to _mean _someth-wait. WHAT. Did you just say that he might be trying to be romantic? EWWWWWW!"

He flinched at my loudness. Some other people in line had turned to look at me.

"Sorry," I said, because the cashier (who was an old man, by the way) was giving me a dirty look. Then I turned to England. "But seriously, that's disgusting."

He shrugged. "Wasn't the frog trying to make a move on you, too?"

"I guess." I thought about it. "But doesn't he do that to everyone?"

"I suppose."

"So it doesn't mean anything."

"I suppose not."

Yay! We were finally at the front of the line.

I unloaded the clothes and put them on the conveyor belt thingy. It was kind of awkward, because the cashier was an old man. And he had to scan the tag on my bra and whatnot.

So. Dang. Awkward.

I paid for the clothes, and then started walking back to my car, England in tow.

* * *

"You also might want to invest in something to wear to a meeting," England commented while I put the bags in the trunk.

"And why is that?"

"We have a G8 meeting next week."

I groaned. "Oh yeah, that. My boss told me—wait. Shoot. How am I going to explain to the boss that I'm a girl?"

His lips quirked upwards into a smile. "Do you think your President will mind much?"

"Well, not really," I admitted. The President's cool like that.

But he'd probably just sigh at me in that way of his when he's tired or irritated. And say something like, "Now, America." Pause. "I'm not going to ask how this happened…" Pause. "But I want to know _why_." Pause. "Did you bother England again?"

And I'd have to be like, "No, sir! It was France's fault and—"

And then he'd cut me off, because when France is involved, my boss tends to not want to hear the explanation.

"But I'd still rather not have to explain what happened," I added.

"Would you like to come over early, then?" he offered.

I stared at him blankly. "Why would I need to go to your place?"

"I'm hosting, git."

"Oh. Um, sure! Thanks." I paused before saying, "That's something uncharacteristically nice of you."

"Pfft. That's an uncharacteristically long word for you."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "But really, what brought on this sudden niceness? Usually, if I want to come visit, you complain about it and yell at me and stuff."

He thought about that for a moment. "Hmm. I suppose that is the case. I don't know. I think it's your face."

"L-O-L, that rhymed," I laughed, spelling out the letters of LOL because I'm cool like that. Then I frowned. "What about my face?"

"Well…" England looked like he wished he hadn't said anything. "You just look… more… vulnerable?"

"Wha-! I am not vulnerable! I'm a super BAMF! I'm the strongest country in the world, and—"

"What does BAMF stand for?" England cut me off. Then he thought about it for a moment and found the answer. "…Never mind. And, anyway, I didn't mean you looked weak, I—"

"Darn right I'm not weak!"

"I just meant that I felt like helping you. I think it's because you're a lady, and I'm a gentleman."

"Pfft. Gentleman, my ass."

"Watch your language," he scolded me. "It's not very ladylike."

"Like I give a crap."

"_Language_."

"Fine," I huffed, slamming the trunk shut and walking over to the driver's side door. "Just get in the car."

He slid into the passenger seat, while I got in the driver's seat. Then I set a course for my house, and we were off.

* * *

"He wasn't kidding," I mumbled to myself when we pulled up to my front driveway.

England was gaping at the huge mound of sunflowers heaped on my lawn. "Wha… where did he…"

"I have no idea," I answered, getting out of the car and grabbing my Wal-M*rt bags out of the trunk. "He's just a psychopath."

When I say a huge mound, I mean a _huge _mound. Like, a pile of the bright yellow flowers tall enough to conceal someone inside.

…Now that _that _thought had occurred to me, I was kind of afraid of the sunflowers.

I walked past the heap, on my way to my front door, when suddenly someone jumped out of the stack.

"U-um, surprise, Mr. America!"

It was Lithuania. He had golden flower petals stuck on his head, LOL.

"Hey there, Lithuania," I said. "I am _so _glad that it wasn't Russia inside the flower pile."

England joined me. "Hello, Lithuania."

"Hello, Mr. England. Ahem. Um. Mr. Russia told me to give this to Mr. America." He pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out to me.

I motioned for him to give it to England, as my hands were full of plastic Wal-M*rt bags.

England took it, and frowned as he read it. "…The bloody hell?"

"What does it say?" I asked.

"It says, and I quote, 'Become one with Mother Russia, da?'" He did it with this killer Russian accent, too.

"What? _Mother _Russia? Is he a she now? …Also, nice accent, Iggy."

"Thank you. And don't call me Iggy."

"Um…" Lithuania cleared his throat. "That's… just something he says."

"Well, I always knew he was strange," I said. "Thanks for giving me that weird card."

I marched forward to my front door and pulled out my keys. Then I unlocked the door, and kicked my shoes off before going inside.

"Come on, England, you're coming with me," I told him.

"Why?"

"So you can be my backup, duh!" I didn't tell him that it was because I was secretly a teeny-tiny bit afraid.

"O-oh. You idiot. So I'm your sidekick, huh?" He swallowed. Clearly, he was also freaked out.

"Yep," I replied. "Shoes off."

He complied.

The two of us started up the staircase. I turned around and saw that Lithuania was hovering in the doorway, watching us nervously.

Way to help with my nerves, Liet. Thanks a ton.

But, because I am a hero, and because I needed to put the things I'd picked up in my closet, I continued to walk up the stairs. Despite the fact that there was this… atmosphere of doom lingering in my normally awesome house.

Once we got to the second floor, England started talking to his imaginary friends. I think the pressure was making him crack.

"What's that, Flying Mint Bunny? …Don't go into America's bedroom?"

I snorted. "Flying Mint Bunny? What kind of name is that?"

"America," England said, "my friends tell me that there's something evil lurking in your bedroom."

I almost said, _What friends? _But I'm not that mean, so I didn't. Instead I asked, "The evil in my bedroom wouldn't happen to be France, right? Because I told him to leave."

"Hmm," he said, like he was listening to someone. But that clearly was not the case, because there was **NOBODY ELSE HERE BUT ME.** Then he spoke to me. "It's not France."

"Well then. We're good. Unless it's ghosts. Ghosts are creepy." I walked over to my bedroom door, which was closed. Huh. I thought I'd left it open before I went to the meeting this morning.

Weird.

I opened the door. And dropped my stuff and squeaked.

Because freaking _Russia _was sitting on my bed, holding a water pipe with sunflowers stuffed inside.

"America!" He broke into a grin. "I was waiting for you!"

"H-how-" My voice was squeaky, so I swallowed hard before I continued. "How did you get into my house?"

He just continued to smile, and said, "Is hobby of mine. I have lots of practice."

Wow, so he likes breaking and entering people's houses? Cool hobby.

"This is for you! Be my sunflower, da?" he asked, thrusting the steel pipe at me.

I took it. He'd jammed a bunch of sunflowers in the top of the pipe, so it looked like a dysfunctional vase and bouquet. Etched in the metal of the pipe were the words, "For America."

It was kind of sweet, in a creepy way.

"U-um, thank you," I stammered, at a loss for words. This whole thing was seriously freaking me out.

His smile stretched wider. "You are so cute when you are embarrassed, da? I like you much better this way." He reached out and stroked my hair gently.

"Please stop that." My voice came out as a dry squeak.

He didn't stop touching my hair. "Your hair is like sunshine color, da?"

"I-I guess," I stuttered. Darn this girl body for shutting down on me like this! If I were in my guy form, I would've pounded the heck out of him by now. But the girl body had locked up from… fear or nervousness or something. "P-please stop, Russia."

"_Mother_ Russia," he corrected me. "I will stop when you call me Mother Russia."

At that moment, England stepped in all badassly.

"I believe I heard the lady tell you to stop," he said, in this angry-sounding voice.

Russia stared him down for a moment, then laughed. He gave the top of my head a pat.

"You can think about my offer," he told me. "I am very patient." Then he walked out of the room, went downstairs, and—hopefully—left the house.

"Thanks, England," I breathed. I sat down on the floor, heavily.

"What did he give you?" he inquired.

I passed it to him. He looked it over briefly, then gave it back to me.

"I suppose it's charming, in a frightening way," he commented.

I set the pipe on the ground, gently. "That… was seriously freaky." I was shaking slightly. From the creepiness! Not because I was really scared or anything.

England noticed. "Are you all right?"

"F-fine."

He hugged me from behind, resting his chin on top of my head. I tensed up before relaxing and leaning my head back into his chest.

Gosh, he was warm. I could hear his heartbeat. It was soothing, somehow.

…Why was I letting him do this?

"It's all right, love," he murmured. "Calm down. Nobody's going to hurt you."

There was a fluttering sensation in my chest and stomach. And I liked it.

No, no! That was weird! I had to make it stop.

I scooted away from him, hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt. "I'm not scared!"

He chuckled. "'Course you aren't. Although, I _am _curious. Why did you freeze up like that?"

"I dunno," I mumbled defensively.

"Offer still stands, you know."

"What?"

"If you want, you can come visit my home. Think of it as a little vacation to get away from… this."

"Sure. Why not? I'll book a flight for Thursday." (That was two days from now, by the way.)

"All right, then." He looked at me. "You'll have to drive me back to my hotel, you know."

"Meh, it's not that far, right?"

"About fifteen minutes' walk from today's conference building."

"Okay, then. Sure. Just let me change, and we can go."

* * *

**A/N: Again, thanks loads for all the great feedback, guys! **

**Next chapter: America takes up on England's offer. England decides that America needs etiquette lessons so he can be more ladylike. Also, Big Brother France makes a guest visit. **


	5. English Insults

**A/N: So, I lied last chapter. Sorry. Etiquette lessons with England will probably come up later. I tried to make the plot move along, guys. Really, I did. But then I just kept typing and this came out. **

**So, this chapter is really quite pointless, because nothing relevant to the plot happens in it, except England gets dropped off at his hotel. Sorry. **

**But I hope you guys like this anyway! ^.^**

**Also, thanks to everyone who reads this story. :) Over a thousand views, despite the fact that this has been up for less than two weeks! That's pretty great. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Also, I've given up on asterisking brand names and stuff, since I know you all recognize them anyway. **

* * *

I changed into my new clothes from Wal-M*rt and realized that I was probably going to have to go shopping in a few days again. Unless I wanted to do laundry every other day for a whole month.

And that is a major waste of water, my friends. Wasting water is a terrible thing to do. It's not eco-friendly.

I made up my mind to go shopping with Hungary or Belgium or one of the other female nations. Because, you know, girls know what girls need.

…I just realized that it's kind of sad how few girl countries there are.

Anyway.

So England and I walked back downstairs. I ran around the whole downstairs floor, checking to see if Russia was still there. (No, thank the powers that be.)

I left the water pipe stuffed with sunflowers upstairs. England had asked me if I wanted to throw it away, but I declined.

Because really, who throws away a pipe? Filled with _flowers_. Also, it might come in handy sometime. In case Russia came back. Then I could just whack him over the head with the pipe.

So anyway, after checking to make sure that Russia was gone, we walked out to my driveway and got in the car again.

I glanced at the mound of golden sunflowers heaped on the lawn.

"Such a waste," England sighed, which was exactly what I had been thinking.

"It kind of makes me feel bad," I admitted. "All those poor flowers are just going to sit there until they die." I chewed my lip. "The flowers are innocent. They just got massacred for no reason."

"I wouldn't say 'no reason'," England said. "He really must have gone through a lot of trouble to get these."

"I… I guess it's sweet in a kind of overkill, creepy way."

"What _are _you going to do with all those flowers, anyway?" he asked.

I thought about it. "Hmm. Oh! I know! I could give one to very house on the street!"

"That'll take _ages_," England pointed out. "Do you even have the time to bother with it? You have to get your notes ready for the G8 meeting and everything."

"Crap, you're right." I groaned. "Whatever. I don't even want to _think _about it. Got your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Good." I twisted the ignition and reversed out of the driveway.

* * *

We were driving along for a bit when England commented, "You're in high demand today, aren't you?"

"Huh?"

"Seems like everyone wants a piece of you today," he said. "Earlier in the meeting, France wanted you to go on a date with him. And Korea claimed your breasts. And-"

"That's just something he usually does," I said with a shrug, blushing slightly. "Haven't you seen him around Japan and China?"

"…True. And then France made a house call. And then Russia went out of his way to give you presents."

"That's not _everybody_," I pointed out, eyes still on the road. "That's only two people."

"Korea makes three."

"But Korea is my bro, dude! Bros do not hit on bros. He wasn't hitting on me."

"If you say so," England remarked. I could tell from his voice that he was smirking. That d-bag.

"Well," I drawled after a brief thought, "I guess it _is _three. But not because of Korea."

"Then who?"

"You!" I exclaimed.

"M-me?"

"Yes, you! You're being unusually nice to me today!"

"I am not, you bloody wanker!"

"Dude, I don't even know what 'wanker' means." I paused. "But I'm sure it's not nice."

He coughed. "Ah… never mind."

"See! That was an apology-ish! You never apologize or apologize-ish to me normally!" A quick glance to the side showed me that his face was now completely red.

"It's because you're pretty now," he blurted without thinking.

"Oh, you think I'm pretty?" I grinned.

"N-no! But Russia does! He, he said that your hair was the color of sunshine! Russia thinks you're pretty, not me!"

"If you say so," I sang. I wasn't taking him seriously; I just wanted to mess with him.

The way he was so flustered and blush-y was kind of cute…

Ew, did I really just think that? Gross.

We drove on in silence for a few more moments. Then my phone rang.

"Could you put it on speakerphone?" I asked England.

He huffed. "Can't you do it yourself, idiot?"

"No, but I'm driving. Heroes do not use their phones while driving," I explained. "It could cause a car accident."

He sighed and fumbled around with my phone for a few minutes. I think he took so long because he didn't know how to activate speakerphone, LOL.

"Hey! What's up?" I called when he had finally picked up the call. Then, belatedly, I asked, "Who is this?"

"Ve~! America! It's-a me!"

"…Who?" I asked. LOL, I sounded like Canada's bear.

England groaned. "It's obviously Italy, you tosser."

"Nuh-uh! It could totally be someone else," I said.

"Is that England with you?" The mystery caller asked.

"It might be," I answered very mysteriously. "That depends on who's calling."

"Oh, um, this is Italy, ve~!"

"Italy! Why didn't you say so?" I grinned.

England facepalmed.

"So, what's up?" I asked, ignoring England.

"Nothing much," Italy giggled. "Oh, wait. Right. Ve~, Fratello wants to ask you out, but he's too shy~!"

"…Who is this 'Fratello' you speak of?" I inquired.

"Big brother Romano, of course!"

"Oh, South Italy?" I tried to remember what I knew about South Italy. Not much, except that he often looked angry and really liked tomatoes. "Really? He never struck me as a shyperson."

There was a brief commotion on the other side of the conversation.

_"Feli, who are you talking to?" _

"Oh, Romano! Ve~, I have America on the phone! Do you want to talk to him… um, her?"

_"What! I told you not to—dammit! Give me the phone!" _

"But, Fratello, I just wanted to help! You haven't gone out with anyone in ages!"

_"W-what? Who told you that? I mean, no! I was… I was just busy!" _

"Fratello, you need to make more friends. Besides, when's the last time you hit on a girl? You'll never find that special someone if you don't-"

_"Just give me the damn phone already!" _

"Nooooo!"

England, who heard all of this since the phone was on speaker, was trying not to laugh and failing.

I tried to cut in. "Romano? Italy?"

_"Hang up!" _South Italy shouted.

"No!" Italy protested. "Fratello, please, just at least _talk _to Am—"

_"Goodbye," _Romano hissed into the phone, then there was a click and the line went dead.

England snorted. "Well, that was interesting."

I frowned. "Did Italy really just try to set me up on a date with his brother?"

He shrugged. "Italians," he pointed out, as though that explained everything.

"Is this your hotel?" I asked, indicating one of the tall, polished buildings on the street.

He started. "Wha… yes. How did you know?"

"Boss told me you guys were all staying here."

"You listened?"

"Not _all _blondes are dumb," I said. I poked him in the arm. "But I can only speak for myself."

"H-hey! You damn wanker!"

"…Seriously, what does that even mean?" I parallel parked next to the curb. "Never mind. I'll look it up later." I opened the door and got out of the car.

"What are _you_ getting out of the car for?" England asked, surprised.

"Um, duh. I'm escorting you back to your hotel room." I rolled my eyes. "It's proper manners."

"You're a lady," he said. "You don't have to—"

"Look, dude. Even if I'm a girl right now, I still have manners. And I'm still a hero, no matter what. So I gotta escort you back to your room. _Capiche_?"

"…You speak Italian?"

"No." I blinked. "I thought 'capiche' was American."

He sighed. "You truly are a hopeless twit."

* * *

Unfortunately, since most of the other nations were also staying in the same hotel, we ran into some of them on the way up to England's room.

We saw Spain once we walked through the front doors. He waved and smiled at me, then stuck his tongue out at England.

Then he stood up and told me, "Lovi and Feli are fighting again. Do you have any idea why? Lovi seemed so upset… I don't like when _mi tomate _is upset." He pouted.

"Um, no. No idea at all," I answered.

"Absolutely none," England added, glaring at Spain.

"Oh. Okay." Spain sat back down. "I wonder where Francis went…"

We ended up in the same elevator as China and Japan. We all said hello, then kind of stood there awkwardly while we tried to think of something to say.

After passing sixteen floors, China thought of something to say, but was cut off by the elevator doors dinging open. Then he and Japan had to leave.

And I was alone with England.

"So…" I said casually. "How's your day been so far?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "Terrible. I was dragged along bra shopping with you. What do you _think_?"

The elevator doors opened again on the twentieth floor. England and I walked out.

"So where's your room?" I asked.

He pointed. "Over there." We started walking in that direction.

We came to his room, number 2009. He got his keycard out and slid it in the slot.

"You don't have to still be here, you know," he said.

"Okay." But I stayed.

He sighed. "America… Oh, bollocks." That last part was because he removed the keycard and the slot thingy flashed red. LOL. He didn't unlock it right.

"You have to do it like this," I said, showing him the proper way to unlock a door. It flashed green when I did it. I pushed the door open and stepped inside his room. "Hey, do you have a computer in here?"

"America! Get out of my hotel room, you git!"

"No way," I pouted. "I want to look up what 'wanker' means. Oh, and 'tosser,' while I'm at it.

He flushed. "Do you want to do that at home?"

"Nope! I'm burning with curiosity, man. I need to know." I found his laptop, which was plugged in at the desk. I flipped it open. It was locked, unfortunately.

"Don't touch that! Oh. Ha. You can't unlock it, can you?" he said smugly.

I thought for a moment, then typed in the word 'password.' Lots of people use that as a password.

That didn't work.

So then I tried 'password' backwards, which also didn't work.

Then I typed in 'France is a wanker.' Which also didn't work. Darn.

I sighed, thinking hard.

"You'll never figure it out," England proclaimed. "H-hey, what are you doing?"

I pressed the numbers 1 through 5 on the keyboard. Sure enough, that worked.

"Wha—how did you—"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Dude, you used one of the most commonly used passwords ever. Like an old person."

Then I read the page that he had left open. And choked.

"Oh. My. Gosh. What… what is this?"

Let's just say that he was on RedTube. You guys probably know what that means…

"Don't just use other people's computers without permission!" he sputtered.

I clicked out of his window and opened a new one. Ugh. Gross. I did _not _need to know that he watched those kinds of things in his spare time.

So I Googled 'wanker,' and clicked on the Wikipedia entry. Then I choked again.

"What the heck, man?" I cried. "That's… that's just foul!"

He flushed. "Well, it's true!"

"EWWWWW! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU CALLED ME THAT ALL THE TIME, AND I DIDN'T KNOW, AND OHMYFREAKIN'GOSHWHAT'SWRONGWITHYOUYOUPERV!"

"Shut up!"

With horrified fascination, I scrolled through the rest of the article. And looked at the "See Also" section.

Apparently there's a place called Wankers Corner in Oregon, you guys. I did not know that.

Nor did I need to know that.

…Nor did I want to know that, after finding out what exactly that word means.

"Why do you guys call it wanking, anyway?" I asked.

"Wh—what?"

"It's such a weird word," I said. "Like the sound a penguin makes. Oh, you know that penguin from _Adventure Time_? He always goes like, 'Wank, wank, wank.' That's a penguin word, man."

"…On a _children's_ show?"

"Yep. I blame you for corrupting the meaning of a penguin sound," I said. Then, "Wait. Not that kind of sound."

I had to add that last part because England was smirking. And that smirk usually means that he's thinking something dirty. Because he's just a pervert like that, you guys.

"You're gross, dude." Then another thought occurred to me. "Hey, is it even legit anymore?"

"What?"

"Can you even _call _me a wanker anymore? I mean, I'm a chick now. I don't have anything to jerk."

"…Well, you could always—"

"Shut up! I'm not a pervert like you!" I blushed furiously.

"It's your fault for asking!"

"Whatever. I'm out of here." I huffed and left the room, leaving England alone with his computer.

And… crap. I just _touched his computer_. After finding out what he looks up on it.

…EWWW.

I needed to go disinfect my hands.

And also wash my brain out with soap. Because I really needed to forget that I ever found out the things that I just found out.

* * *

**A/N: ...yeah. Once I learned out what it means to wank, I never looked at Gunther/Gunter the same way again.**

**Also, to anyone who watches Adventure Time, is it Gunther or Gunter? I just don't know. **

**Hope you guys liked this utterly plotless chapter! **


	6. I Don't Even Know

**A/N: Sorry for the gap between updates, guys. But I just started school again and UGH. HIGH SCHOOL. Need I say more?** **Also, the fact that I'm juggling not one, but TWO different sports a day isn't helping matters much. **

**So, I changed my Tumblr URL to the-daughter-of-rome. Now it's much easier to remember! I'll be posting statuses on this story on there. And if I don't, feel free to ask me if I'm going to update anytime soon, because sometimes I get so busy I forget that Fanfiction (and Tumblr) exist. That's really not a good thing.**

**On the bright side, you guys get an extra-long chapter! With lots of random innuendos. THIS CHAPTER RATED T FOR WAY TOO MANY INNUENDOS. **

**Oh, and thanks again for all the positive feedback! I love you all. :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. But maybe someday... *evil laugh***

* * *

The third day of a world conference is always basically a recap of all the stuff we didn't accomplish because we were too busy arguing.

It's really boring, guys. Because the host country (in this case, me) has to deliver a summarizing speech in front of everyone. A very, very, _very _long speech.

Trouble was, since I hadn't been taking very good notes during the conference (or paying attention, period), I was having a hard time recapping all the _wonderful_ things we accomplished the past few days (read: NOTHING).

Also, my ADHD was acting up. (Did I mention that I'm ADHD? Yes? No? I can't rememb—hey, what's that?)

Anyway, it was evening. I had gone home again after I dropped England off at his hotel. Then I'd done a perimeter sweep (Russia wasn't there, luckily) and set up a few motion detectors at the entryways just in case (Shaddup. Those spy kits at Toys-R-Us are totally legit).

Then I sat at my computer and thought for a while about what to write as a wrap-up speech.

The trouble with computers is that they have Internet access. Which therefore means that ADHD people like me have _way _too much access to distractions.

Before long, I was searching stuff up on Google Images. Anyone else ever do that? Like, you just search up "chocolate cake" and then you admire all the beautiful cakes? Or you search "kittens" and then go "AWWWWW!" as you admire all the adorable kittens?

I do that a lot, admittedly.

This fine evening, I had just looked up chocolate chip cookies, hamburgers, cupcakes, red pandas, and labs. Not the science-y kind, LOL. The happy fun dog kind with pretty fur.

Then, for some reason, I went and searched up France. I dunno why. I guess he was kind of on my mind because of his unexpected phone calls?

STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT. I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID IT, OKAY?

In any case, I got a bunch of really nice pics. Like his flag. And his map. His map is not attractive at all, you guys. FRANCE IS JUST A FAT BLOB.

I also got a bunch of pictures of the Eiffel Tower. He must _reeeaaaaallly _like showing off his Eiffel Tower, huh? If ya know what I mean…

Pfft. It's not all that much to show off. Only about a thousand feet. Please. Florida could show that up any day.

… If I still _had _a Florida, that is.

Coughcoughcough. Awkward.

Anyway, after I laughed at France, I looked up South Italy. I dunno. Probably because of that weird conversation I'd had with Italy.

But _dang_. The dude had some seriously beautiful coasts. Also, he's shaped like a boot, haha. But I guess that's kind of cute. I mean, most of us countries don't really look like anything in particular, but the Italy bros make up a boot! How cool is that?

I spent a long time ogling those Italian beaches, I'll admit. But that water was blue as sapphires. And I really wanted to go to the beach after looking at those photographs.

Maybe I should pay a visit to Florida… ACTUAL LAND FLORIDA, NOT… Never mind.

Then I looked up England. Mostly, I found a lot of pictures of his Union Jack. That thing will make me go blind, I swear. ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY USE BRIGHT COLORS AND PUT THEM IN A BUNCH OF LAYERED X'S. ONE MUST USE BRIGHT COLORS AND ADD STARS AND STRIPES.

That is the correct way to use red, white, and blue. _Duh._

Yeah. Really.

I lost track of time while I was looking at England's pictures and maps and stuff. I don't know, guys. There's something mesmerizing about his London Bridge and clock…

I SAID CLOCK. CLOCK, WITH AN L. NO ONE SAY ANYTHING.

The only reason I noticed so much time had passed while I was looking at pictures was that my stomach started to growl. I was hungry.

I scowled at my computer screen. "Gosh darn it, England! You made me get distra—oh, crap. I need to finish my speech!"

My stomach growled again. Actually, it was more of a roar than a growl.

I was torn. Torn between eating food—glorious, beautiful food—and working on that speech.

"What should I do?" I whined to myself. I groaned and put my head in my hands. "Stupid ADHD."

I made the mistake of glancing at the computer screen, which was currently filled with a dazzling photo of Big Ben.

Unff. That clock, you guys. Almost as sexy as my Lady Liberty.

…I have a problem, don't I?

At that moment, my phone rang. Still staring at that clock, I reached for it and answered it.

"What is it? I'm busy," I said distractedly into the phone.

There was a chuckle on the other end. "Still have not finished your speech, _Amerique_?"

"Uh… yeah. Who are you?"

"You wound me, _chérie_. You mean you cannot tell it is I?"

"Uh…" I was trying to think, but that clock pic was distracting me. "I dunno."

The mystery caller sighed. "It is I. France. The land of _amour_?"

"Oh… yeah. Mm-hmm."

"How _is _that speech of yours coming along?"

"Yeah, sure."

Another sigh. "You are not even listening to me, are you?"

"Mmm… yep. Sure."

"_États-Unis d'Amérique_!" France shouted into the phone.

I started at the sound of my full name. Yes, I know French. What of it? I'm a cultural mixing pot; I know my lingo.

"What?" I said.

"What is it zat you are doing that's _so important_?"

I finally tore my eyes away from the computer screen. "Um… Internet."

"Are you watching—"

"NO!" I yelped. "I'm not a sick perv like you!"

France 'honhonhon'-ed. "There is nothing wrong with—"

"Look, dude," I interrupted him. "Did you call me just to ask if I was watching porn? Because, if so, I'm going to have to hang up on you. I'm busy." Then, after a thought occurred to me, I added, "Also, I'm a chick right now. Florida's gone."

"Ah, poor ignorant _Amerique_. If you wish, I could help you—"

"No chance in heck! If that's all you have to say, I'm going to end the—"

"I called to ask if you were all right. After all, you _did _say that _Russie_ was in your general vicinity…"

I cringed at the memory. "Well, I'm fine. Thanks for asking several hours after the fact."

There was an awkward pause.

"So…" I said. "Is that all?"

France was silent before replying, "_Non_. Could you keep talking?" He chuckled. "That shouldn't be too hard for you. You never stop talking."

"Um… Why do you want me to talk more? Usually I'm being told to shut up."

"…I wanted to hear your voice," France admitted in a gentler voice than I was used to hearing from him.

"…What?"

"There is something different about you now," he said.

"Um, _duh_. I'm a girl."

"Yes. A _très belle _girl at that." He paused before adding, "Are you doing anything after the closure tomorrow?"

"Uh… Are you trying to ask me out?"

He laughed. "Is that a yes, _chérie_?"

"Um… no? I don't know." I blew out a breath. "Can we talk about this some other time? I need to finish my speech."

"Ah. _Oui_. _Adieu, ma chére!_"

With that, he hung up.

That was surprisingly easy. Wasn't he usually more persistent with other countries? Hmm. Maybe he was just being nicer to me because I was a girl now.

I turned back to my computer screen and—with much difficulty—closed the browser. I could resume derping around on the Internet when I was done with my speech.

My stomach rumbled. Crap, I was still _hungry_.

I decided to eat first and write later. I needed food to think.

* * *

After a rapid-fire session of BS-ing a speech, the next day I got dressed in Bermuda shorts and the army green t-shirt. I checked my hair in the mirror quickly (I only looked _slightly _crazy, so that was okay), and then was out the door and on my way to the meeting.

I was there early again, so the only other nations there were Germany and Japan.

Germany frowned at me by way of greeting. "Vat happened to your hair? It looks like a rat made a nest in it."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," I replied. For some reason, is words had brought on a bout of self-consciousness for me. It was weird! Usually, I never care about how people think I look.

Especially not _Germany_.

But now I was overcome with urges to fix my hair or hide in a corner. Or, preferably, both.

"Does it really look that bad, Japan?" I asked, flustered. My fingers combed through my hair rapidly.

Japan averted his eyes. "Er… I think it looks fine, America-chan."

What happened to him calling me _America-san_? Where was the respect, you guys?

I frowned. "America-_chan_? Huh. You don't usually call me that."

Japan seemed flustered. "Ah! _Sumimasen_, America-san. It is a, ah, term of endearment in my country."

"Oh."

At that moment, who should walk in but _France?_

"_Bonjour_, _Amerique_!" he exclaimed. "Did you finish your speech, _chérie_?"

Germany sighed, irritated.

"Yeah, I did," I said. Because I totally _did _finish, you guys. It's just that it wasn't a particularly good speech, because I BS-ed the whole thing like a middle school slacker.

France sauntered over to me and draped his arm over my shoulders. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "Did you think about my offer yesterday?"

It tickled. Also, I could feel his chin stubble. Which was kind of gross, but mostly it just tickled my ear.

"Could you quit breathing in my ear?" I asked. I was sure I had a stupid grin plastered on my face, but it was because it tickled and I was trying not to laugh.

"But does it not… _excite_ you?" He said that in this husky purr that I _guess _was supposed to be sexy, but mostly it just made me shiver from ticklishness.

"Not particularly." I giggled. Darn it. "Mostly it just tickles."

France pulled his face away so I could see him pout. "It is not supposed to _tickle_, _chérie._" He purred in that same low voice as before, "It's supposed to excite you, arouse you, make you w—"

"Gross. I don't want to hear it," I chortled. I couldn't help it—he just sounded hilarious, you guys. I batted my eyelashes with girlish charm and mimicked his husky tone. "Why don't you try to go _excite _and _arouse _someone else?"

"Ah, but _Amerique_, I have eyes for no other but you." That last part was in his "sexy" voice too.

I kept mimicking his voice. "Ah, but you also want to plunder the whole world's asses."

"You wound me, _ma belle_," France said. "What kind of rogue do you take me for?"

"A French one."

"Give me one day and I'm sure you'll see differently," he challenged.

I raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"_Sûrement_."

I'm not sure what I'd have said next, but luckily, I didn't have to say anything.

A booming, Russian voice interrupted our banter. "America! It is nice to be seeing you, da?"

I tensed. "Hello, Russia."

The pale giant of a guy smiled crookedly. "Is he being the bother?" He pointed to the longhaired Frenchman who still had his arm over my shoulders.

"Not at all," France said smoothly. "She is fine with my company, _merci._"

"Ah…" I said, trying to subtly shrug France off. "I'll… just be… over there… yeah." I backed away slowly to where Germany was.

"What's the deal with France and Russia, eh?" Canada asked me, materializing out of nowhere.

I jumped. "Canada! When did you get here?"

"I've been here since before Germany. Didn't you see me? I waved at you when you came in…" He sighed. "Eh, never mind. But really, what's going on?"

"I dunno," I whined. "Ever since I got turned into a girl, the guy countries have been all over me! It's really creepy and awkward."

Canada looked me up and down. I felt a prick of self-consciousness again.

"Well," he finally said when he had finished eye-raping me, "it's probably because you're pretty now."

"Dude." I shook my head. "That is not something you say to your brother. Er, sister. Whatever."

"Why not?" Another thought hit him. "Hey, if we're twins, and you're pretty as a girl… would I be a pretty girl too?"

"I dunno," I said for the second time. "Probably. Why? You got a certain guy you want to charm?"

"Oh, maple, no!" Canada looked horrified. Like there's something wrong with liking a guy when you're a guy. Come on, I don't judge. He doesn't have to act so defensive. "I'll have you know, I am as straight as a linear pair!"

"…Linear pair?"

"Yeah! Like, opposite rays. They form a 180-degree angle, also known as a STRAIGHT LINE. Honestly, America, you should know this!" He nerd-lectured me.

"Haha… yeah. Is that a Geo term?"

He facepalmed. "What is wrong with your education system?"

"Nothing! I'm just not good at Geometry. But I rock at Calc, bro! For example, if you're calculating arc length, you have to derive the formula from the Pythagorean theorem, which states that _ds_ squared equals _dx_ squared plus _dy_ squared. So, then you need to—"

"Urgh, I don't care, America." Canada rubbed his temples. "How do you even have that memorized, eh?"

I laughed. "I've posed as a high school student before, so I've taken Calc enough times to remember how to derive the formula for arc length. Pssh. It's easy."

"…And yet you don't remember what a linear pair is?"

"Uh, yeah. Because I enroll in the smart-kids class! I don't want to take Geo. Geo's for people who aren't good at math so they just draw shapes and lines all day."

Canada just sighed and changed the subject. "Did you finish your speech?"

"I totally did."

"…You BS-ed the whole thing, didn't you?"

Curse my brother and his ability to see right through me.

"Hey, in my defense, I've had a rough past few days," I defended myself defensively.

He sighed again. "Oh, why don't you set up or something so we don't have to wait once everyone gets here?"

So I listened to my brother for once and did.

* * *

"This world is a beautiful world," I continued reading. "And, if we… work as awesomely as we did this past meeting, we can… achieve a bunch of great things."

There was silence.

"I'm done," I said.

The world burst into applause.

"Ve~! Thanks for keeping your speech short!" Italy said above the clapping. "Only two minutes! I like short speeches better."

Germany looked offended at this. He was probably jealous because his speeches are always _long_, am I right? Some things are better when they're longer, and some things aren't. LOLOLOLOL INNUENDOS. (Speeches are better short.)

Spain, who was munching on the last piece of a churro, nodded his agreement with Italy vigorously. He had crumbs of cinnamon and sugar on his mouth, I noticed.

UrghwhydidIfindthatattractivewhat'swrongwithme.

England rolled his eyes. "That… was utter drivel. Did you make up the whole thing on the spot?"

"No," I snapped. "I wrote this last night with lots of thought and care and all that shit."

Germany rolled his eyes, too. "Clearly."

I huffed and folded my arms. "Well, guess what? Now we're done early, so we can all just eat lunch and chill in here. YOU GUYS SHOULD BE THANKING ME FOR NOT DRONING ON AND ON."

Spain swallowed and licked the remaining sugar off his lips in a way that was far too distracting for the conference room. At least I wasn't the only one watching, though. Belgium might have been drooling just a bit.

"Thank you for making a short speech! I liked your speech much better than the boring ones _England _makes." Spain grinned. Dang. He _really _had a nice smile.

I blushed. Seriously. How had I not noticed before that the world is a collection of extremely good-looking guys? I mean, I guess it was because I was a guy before.

Correction: a _straight _guy before. Because I'd had a crush on Belarus for a brief period (this was before I found out she was crazy and had the hots for her brother). And I'd also been attracted to Ukraine for a little while, but then I backed off once I found out that Mattie had been crushing on her for a while.

Yeah, that's a long story. But now they're friends! I like to joke that they're dating, but they're not officially, because then Russia would probably beat Mattie up because he thinks that Mattie is me.

I don't get why people mix up Canada and me. I get how they don't notice him sometimes (he's so quiet, sometimes I forget he's there, too), but I don't get why they confuse us. WE HAVE DIFFERENT EYE COLORS AND HAIRSTYLES, GUYS. Plus I wear my awesome bomber jacket. Canada does not have an awesome bomber jacket like mine.

Ha, he wishes.

Right, now back to the story.

England glared murderously at Spain. "My speeches are not _boring_, you twat."

Spain glared back at him for a moment before breaking down and sobbing something about his armada.

Romano flipped England the bird and sent him a death glare before proceeding to comfort Spain, who had actually factually started crying.

I frowned at England. "You know, I liked it better when you used your weird British slang and I didn't know what you were calling people."

"My slang is not weird!"

"Uh, yes, it is. Most of your insults have to do with what you do with your hands. If those aren't weird insults, I dunno what is."

"China has weird insults!" piped up Korea. "He doesn't say 'idiot.' He says 'stupid egg.'"

China stood up and slammed his hands on the table. "That's not weird, aru! You know what's weird? Japan thinks it's an insult if you don't use the right manners in every sentence!"

Japan flushed pink. "I do not, sorry. Please stop arguing."

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, JAPAN! MAN UP OR I'LL BEAT YOU WITH MY PEACE PRIZE!" This, of course, came from Switzerland.

"How did you get peace prize in first place?" Russia asked happily.

Switzerland pulled out an M1911 from who-knows-where. "Shut up or I'll blow you to kingdom come."

Well, this had escalated quickly.

Luckily, Germany stepped in. "EVERYONE, SHUT UP! You're all acting like foolish children!"

"Yeah, what he said!" I added not foolishly or childishly at all.

"I suggest that we all take a lunch break," Germany proposed. "All in favor?"

The majority of the present countries raised their hands in agreement.

"Okay, then," I said. "Take two hours for lunch and we'll meet back here at one." (It was currently eleven a.m., in case you cared and were too lazy to do the math to figure it out.) "Dismissed."

Italy leaped up and grabbed Germany, pulling him out of the room and saying, "Ve~, I know where to find some good pasta~!"

The rest of the countries quickly followed. Soon, the room was vacated except for me… and a couple of others.

Russia walked up to me. I flinched. His violet eyes stared unwaveringly at my face.

"This is for you," he said pleasantly, thrusting something golden-yellow into my hand.

Another sunflower. Great.

Wait. Where did he even… where was he _keeping _this the whole time? I sincerely hoped that this flower had not been squatting in his pants during the meeting.

"Err, thank you?" I squeaked out.

He smiled even wider, reaching out a tentative hand toward my face. "Can I touch?"

I swallowed. "Um…" Silently, I was praying for someone to come intervene… why was I so scared? I was AMERICA, darn it. I could kick anyone's asses if I wanted to…

He took my hesitation for a yes and stroked my hair gently. He sighed contently. "Such pretty color, da? Like sunshine."

He was so close that I could smell the vodka on his breath.

His pale fingers wandered from my hair to my face. I flinched again. His fingers were cold. They were tracing patterns on my cheek, running across my jaw lightly…

It was kind of awe-inspiring that the dude was so gentle. I mean, I was still kind of annoyed that he was touching my face without permission, but it was strange to appreciate the restraint.

"Please stop." My voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"Stop it."

He just smiled.

At that moment, providence came to my aid in the form of crazy Belarus.

"Brother," she hissed from behind him. "What are you doing?"

Russia visibly paled. Which was saying something, since he's already so pale, LOL.

"Ah… Little Sister…"

"Why are you touching another woman? You're going to _marry _me. If you wanted physical contact, everything you'll ever want is right here…"

EWW. THAT IS NOT RIGHT.

"Uh… yeah! Belarus is right!" I said quickly. The girl was glaring daggers at me. "Russia! I'm… not… good enough for you! Yeah, that's it! Go hang out with your sister."

Belarus wrapped her arms around Russia's middle and started pulling him backwards. "Yes… Marry me, and we can be together… forever!"

Russia whimpered. "A-America!" His eyes pleaded for help. But I wasn't going to help him, haha.

I waved. "Have a nice lunch hour, you guys!"

Then they were out the door. Gone. Hooray.

I blew out a breath and laughed. "Thank you, Belarus." I ran my fingers through my hair and made my way over to Canada, who was still in the room.

Canada was standing next to Ukraine. Both of them had these super wide eyes, like O.O

"…What just happened?" my brother asked.

I shrugged. "Heck if I know. Can I tag along with you to lunch?"

"Eh…" he glanced at Ukraine, who was blushing slightly. "I was kind of… going to eat with Kat…"

"Oh! Oh, okay. Well, you kids have fun," I said brightly. I scanned the room for someone else to eat with.

Well, England was already gone. (That made me sadder than I'd care to admit. But I'm admitting it to you because y'all are cool, boys and girls.)

Korea was already gone, presumably to eat with his brothers. Which also meant that Japan was out. Darn.

I drooped. Great, I could eat lunch by myself like a sad loner. Oh boy.

A hand rested on my shoulder. I spun around quickly to find France grinning at me, blue eyes sparkling.

"Have any plans, _chérie_?"

"None whatsoever," I admitted before realizing the danger in that statement.

"Then would you perhaps consider spending time with _moi_?" He spread his arms.

I admitted defeat. "Okay. Sure."

"_Ne regardez pas si triste_," he said. "I'm not all that bad." He cocked an eyebrow. "I can show you a good time, _Amerique_."

"You sound like a hooker." I shook my head and started towards the door. I stopped when I noticed he wasn't following. I turned around. "What are you waiting for?"

He brightened and trotted after me. "Ah, _ma belle_, you will not regret this."

I sure as hell hoped not.

* * *

**A/N: And so, America agreed to go on a not-date with France. AND MAY OR MAY NOT END UP REGRETTING IT NEXT CHAPTER... MUAHAHAHAHA. **

**Feedback is appreciated. Would you guys mind critiquing the POV? I feel like it keeps jumping tone from chapter to chapter... is it really inconsistent? **

**Again, thanks for reading! :D Hopefully next chapter will be up soon. But with school... I'm not counting on it. XD**


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